


Stranger in the Storm

by Slave2Writing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enchanted Forest AU, F/F, Swan Queen - Freeform, Swan Queen Week, Swan Queen Week Winter 2017, Swan-Mills Family, alternative universe, enchanted forest, mercenary Emma, toddler henry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:54:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9528701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slave2Writing/pseuds/Slave2Writing
Summary: The castle is under attack. (Swan Queen Week, Enchanted Forest AU)





	

There’s a storm raging outside. As powerful as her magic has become, even Regina cannot combat the weather. Torrents of rain and wind find cracks in her castle walls and creep inside, dripping from the ceiling, blowing through the halls. The torches hanging on the walls flicker in warning before they’re whipped into a frenzy, casting distorted shadows as the servants scramble to prepare the hearths and the guards continue their patrols. The ones who have it worst are stationed atop the towers, heads bowed beneath the weight of the temperamental elements, helmets splattered with fat droplets of rain, the metal ringing in their ears.

From the vantage point of the guards in the south tower, they see a flash of white burst out of the dark horizon, something racing out of the black forest towards the drawbridge. There’s no expected guests due for arrival, so the guards stay silent and suspicious, their teeth chattering despite their efforts to grit them, jaws locked, staring down at the figure below who comes to a hard stop at the moat that divides them and the queen’s castle.

“Archers!” The lieutenant shouts, and the guards are eager for something to do, warming up as they shuffle along the high wall, stretching their muscles as they notch their arrows and draw back the string, squinting through the howling wind and black rain, aiming their sights at the stranger. A fresh kill will warm them all up.

The stranger is shouting something. Their words are swallowed by the storm. The lieutenant leans over the side of the wall, his arm raised, and then abruptly swings it down. The arrows fly, raining down through the darkness, lightning flashing, briefly illuminating lengthy golden hair and brown leather. There’s a loud _neigh_ as the white horse rears up, kicking its legs in the air, turning around and racing back towards the forest. A _splash_ alerts the archers that something has dived into the moat. Their arrows follow the faint indentation in the water, firing at will over and over again, chasing ripples in the moat.

* * *

The nursery is doused with flashes of blue and a white so pure it’s frightening. Outside, the sky appears as if it’s made of an ocean of dark fire. It’s flooding the room, shadows unfixing themselves before the young prince’s eyes, a shade of green that stands in bright contrast to the darkness.

His fingers grip tight to the stuffed swan, trying to derive a source of strength from his faithful companion, the once pristine white fur now almost completely brown from being dragged through the dirt on numerous adventures. Unlike the regal solemnity of his pal, Henry’s breath comes out in short, panicked bursts that coil through the air like smoke.

It is his greatest wish to call out for his mother, for the warmth of her body curled around him, protecting him from the fire spirits that cackle madly in the sky, winking at him with every burst of illumination that unveils the monstrous shadows swarming around his bed. But he knows, he remembers that he’s supposed to be a big boy now, the servants have chastised him enough times for being afraid, encouraged by his grandmother not to indulge any hints of weakness that might prove him unfit to rule the most feared kingdom someday.

“Princes aren’t afraid of storms.” Henry chants to himself, squeezing his eyes shut, hugging his swan closer. “Princes aren’t afraid of storms. Princes aren’t afraid of storms. Princes aren’t afrai - ” A thunderous _CRACK_ of lightning, and his chant is overtaken by a pained whimper, turning to bury his face in his pillow, his entire body trembling.

* * *

The stranger resurfaces in the tunnels that make up the sewer system. Coughing, she stumbles over the flood of rats squeaking beneath her feet, unsheathing her dagger as she makes her way towards the dungeons. There’s a loose brick behind one of the empty cells. The stranger peeks through the crack before using her dagger to scrape and pry the brick out of place. A candlemark passes and there’s finally a large enough gap in the wall for her to crawl through, her body sweating a little, water dripping from her clothing and damp curls.

The occupants of the dungeon have begun to wake up, some of their faces shoved between the bars of their cell as they watch whatever’s been panting and grunting behind the shadows finally emerge into the dim light cast by the single torch hanging on the far wall of the guard’s archway. His post is empty. The stranger scurries across the straw and stone that make up the floor, weeds sprouting between the cracks.

“Who are you?” A woman’s timid voice reaches the stranger’s ears, the question followed up by the voices of several others, the cracked, dry sound echoing pitifully through the darkness.

The stranger pays no attention to them, singularly focussed on picking the lock outside her cell. It _clicks_ and the door swings open. Sporting a triumphant grin, she casts her gaze across the desperate, hopeful faces peering at her.

 _Creeeeak_. The doors of each cell swing open, the stranger making the rounds, digging her dagger into each lock, unleashing a panicked swarm of prisoners that race out of the dungeon, most of them already out of breath, too malnourished as they exit the dungeon.

“Wait!” The timid woman cries out when the stranger passes her by.

“Trust me,” the stranger flashes her a smile, heading towards the steps leading out of the dungeon, “I’m doing you a favor.”

She gives it about three minutes after reaching the top step before cupping her hands around her mouth and hollering at the top of her lungs - “PRISONERS! ON THE LOOSE! SOUND THE ALARM!”

Almost immediately, the castle delves into chaos. All the guards retreat inside, drawing their swords and running through the corridors, sweeping the floors for the scattered prisoners. The stranger pushes open a window and slips out of sight before the guards find her in the hallway. The storm drowns away all other sounds, the _clang_ of metal, the satisfying bludgeon of flesh.

The stranger takes a breath, clinging to the side of the castle, ice cold water splattering her body. Slowly, she starts to climb, all her muscles straining with effort, digging her fingers inside cracks, her boots finding purchase on window sills and strong vines, crawling towards the window where her target lies unawares. Beneath her, the black water churns in heady expectation, waiting for her to fall, eager to suck her back into its punishing, unforgiving grasp.

* * *

“ _Boo_.”

Her majesty awakens to the feel of cold metal pressed against the base of her throat, a pair of bright emerald eyes boring into her hooded gaze. Lightning flashes, and she can more clearly make out the profile of her attacker. Drenched, golden strands of hair trickle down the sides of the young woman’s face, streaked with dirt, water dripping from the curled ends onto the duvet. It’s stained with whatever filth this creature has tracked inside her royal bedchamber. Regina’s nose crinkles up at the stench, expression hardening into a glare, gradually waking up.

“Well,” Her voice is clipped. “How long did it take you?”

“Couple hours.” The stranger grins, tracing the edge of the knife across the royal clavicle, letting it dance across the surface of creamy caramel colored skin. “I’m surprised you slept through the commotion.”

“There’s gold on the vanity.” Regina swallows beneath the pressure of the dagger returning to the base of her throat. “Take as much as you deem fair.”

“Didn’t come for gold…” The stranger grins, white teeth flashing in bright contrast to the rest of her soot covered skin.

The knife continues its exploration, tracing the straight line of her majesty’s lips, finally teasing out the barest hint of a smile. “Very well,” the queen murmurs, cautious around the sharp blade. “But go bathe first. You absolutely reek, my dear.”

* * *

The prisoners are rounded up, the ones who haven’t been hastily executed in the halls, their blood dribbling down the staircase. The captain of the guard is instructed to inform his men that this has all been a drill. A mercenary had been hired to test the castle’s defences and found them lacking. There would be a morning assembly in the courtyard with the purpose of correcting some fatal mistakes.

Emma Swan sighs in pleasure as she sinks beneath the surface of the hot bath, all the dirt and traces of sewage crumbling off her body. The filth is magicked away by the enchanted water, transforming into the perfumed steam that rises in the air. She inhales the familiar mixed fragrance; apple and cinnamon and vanilla and hints of ginger spice. The scent alone is almost enough to fill her belly, which grumbles loudly.

The queen chuckles lowly, entering the room, laying down on the stone floor, gently raking her nails through blonde locks, dragging them across the mercenary’s scalp. Pleasure tingles down the length of Emma’s spine, closing her eyes and sinking a little deeper into the bathwater, completely at her majesty’s mercy.

“Hungry, dear?” She licks Emma’s ear, her whisper teasing the pale flesh, now flushing pink.

“ _Ravenous_.” Emma reaches up, blindly threading her fingers through long, raven locks of silk, tugging the older woman down until their lips meet.

* * *

She watches from the bed as Emma dries her hair by the fireplace, an orange glow illuminating the mercenary’s lithe form. Her arms look sculpted by the gods, a pair of granite limbs that are still distinctly feminine. Now that the filth has been washed away, her hair looks as it always should; ringlets of gold, the firelight making it appear as if a halo had been braided through the soft wavy strands.

“Your men cost me a horse y’know.” Emma straightens up, dumping the towel on the floor, bare feet padding across the cool stone. “I expect compensation for that too.”

“You’ll have to take that up with the Master of Horses.”

“I was thinking,” A cheeky grin flashes through the darkness. “maybe, for a change, I can ride _you_ tonight.”

“Is this how you settle _all_ your debts?” Regina holds up the covers for the blonde to slip under, the two of them turning on their sides once they are snuggled inside the warmth of the duvet. “I’m starting to see why you came so highly recommended all those years ago.”

“Hey, I’ve _earned_ my reputation.” Emma growls, the sound sending shivers down the curve of the queen’s spine.

Her majesty hums something in the back of her throat that doesn’t quite form into words, shifting her weight and gently urging Emma to rest on her back. For a few, quiet, lingering moments they’re content to stare, skin burning beneath the weight of the other’s heated gaze. It’s been at least a year and some things are different but some things are the same. The queen’s eyes have always blended with the black of the night, and the mercenary’s have always shone brightly through it, defying the darkness.

“As have I.” The queen finally whispers in response, and rises up until she’s covering Emma’s playful grin with the heat between her thighs.

* * *

It’s actually probably been more than a year, but this woman still _knows_ her body.

The guards outside their monarch’s door cough and shuffle awkwardly, thankful for the helmets that mask their blushing faces, grateful for every clap of thunder that drowns out the occasional plead for mercy and a blasphemous prayer.

“ _Em-mah!_ ” The queen gasps out her name, spine arching off the bed. “M-my love - don’t - _yes_ \- gods - !”

At some point, after the second orgasm had rendered her practically limp and breathless, Emma had rolled her over and gained the dominant hand, using it to spread her open. She’ll never be as fit as her young lover, but Regina has stamina, and she’s determined to pass this test the blonde has set for her, struggling to retain consciousness as Emma - _oh_ \- pushes all her limits.

“Wouldn’t you like a turn?” Her voice is parched, but filled with almost delirious laughter, hands buried in a mess of golden hair, the curls coiled around her wrists like chains made out of silk. She feels her lover’s grin and then a teasing graze of her teeth against Regina’s clitoris just before the hardened nub is sucked into her mouth.

Her howl of pleasure resonates through the castle. It reaches the ears of every occupant: the blushing guards stationed outside her door; the ones patrolling the corridors; young servants smothering their giggles with a pillow; and the prisoners shivering in their cages, curled up on the stone floor, mocked by the lingering sound of their tormentor’s joy.

The fireplace roars with enthused life, the entire bedroom doused with heat and orange light. The storm continues to wage a war on the castle, flashes of white lightening and black rain trying to submerge the fortress beneath the water. But other than the heavy taps on the glass windows, the two woman are blissfully unaware they have an audience, things slowing down between them as Emma gently grinds against her, their hips rolling together, deep purple nails digging into the hard line of muscles flexing on the mercenary’s back.

“This is enough?” Regina asks, a sense of amused disbelief, her legs wrapped around her lover’s waist.

“For now…” Emma grins, warm moans stirring in the back of her throat. “Fuck… almost…”

It feels very nice, this leisurely pace. Regina sighs happily into the crook of her lover’s neck, face hidden by the waves of golden curls that tumble off Emma’s shoulder. She smells of the vanilla bathwater. Regina nibbles on her earlobe, mewls in pleasure when that makes Emma grind just a little bit harder, their mingled arousal providing so much lubrication that it takes more effort to achieve friction. Their hearts hammer in a rhythm that’s out of sync but compatible, a strange harmony that brings color to their flushed faces, sweat rolling down Emma’s arched spine, Regina’s legs tightening around the mercenary’s flexed back.

Emma’s pants get louder, the warm breath coating Regina’s ear, neither of them hearing the _scrape_ of wood on stone as a secret passage opens and a small figure emerges.

“So… fucking…” She rocks harder against the queen, their clits bumping together, electric shocks that could rival the lightning.

“ _Emma_ …” She breathes, sinking her nails deeper into the moonlit flesh. “ _Emma_ …”

“Mommy?”

The sound startles both women, a tentative whisper that cuts through them like a chilled knife. Regina’s magic rears itself on instinct and the fire is extinguished, the room cast in darkness.

The little prince squeaks in sudden fright, clutching his stuffed swan to his chest. “Mommy!” His voice is pitched in something verging on a terrified wail, his bare feet rooted to the stone floor, unable to move towards the shadows beneath the covers in case a monster has invaded the safety of what had always been the place of his greatest comfort.

“...baby, what’s wrong?” Regina strains to make her voice sound normal, hyper aware of the dangling curls lightly brushing her skin, of the flesh cushioning her nails, of the taste of her own arousal lingering in her mouth, the clear substance glistening on Emma’s lips.

Instead of answering, the prince starts sniffling, and then bursts into tears without much transition between the two.

“Emma,” The queen breathes, the sound apologetic, unclenching her nails.

“Fuck - I get it - ”

The bed _creaks_ as the two women painfully detach themselves.


End file.
